Small update. I’ll continue with rolling updates as I keep writing. It’s like a serial novel, but exclusive to you guys.
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Steve?s mind begins to slightly fade. He feels it, fully aware of his slipping consciousness, and enthralled by the sensation. The idea of losing mental control (now this doesn?t mean instability, just less control, like a dream) has always fascinated him. Recognizing his changing emotions, when he feels depressed during a low pressure system, he can almost not comprehend the workings of his mind in these circumstances. He becomes unaware of his surroundings, drifting into another state of consciousness, still awake but shifting through his reality. He loses his sense of presence and time, and is surrounded by the projections of his mind.
The stove beeps. Steve realizes he was over-thinking the situation. ?It?s still fascinating though.? Steve had considered a psychology minor, but instead went with the safer path of English, something he had always been able to understand well, it being a concrete idea and all. He still studies psychoanalysis, looking into the theories of Jung and Nietzsche and Freud and that entire generation of psychologists. He slides off the counter, feeling a sharp pain in his bare feet as he hits the floor. He picks the egg up from behind the spoon, returning the spoon to a ceramic jar. Steve takes a breath and composes himself for the coming trials. He holds the egg over the edge of the pan, making the motions of the actions he must soon perform. That he will only have one chance to perform. The pressure builds inside him, physically in his chest, and his hands begin to perspire. He decides to go through with it before his hands are unsuitable.
Steve lifts the egg up, maybe half a foot above the pan, and strikes it on the edge. It doesn?t break completely open. A crack appears, spanning nearly half the egg?s circumference. Steve slides his thumb between the sections and pries it open. The yellow mass falls into the pan in a pool of white, literally and figuratively, in an interesting coincidence. Steve feels accomplished. He tosses the shell in a loose trash bag and rinses his hands of the stray egg substance. Go to the store, get eggs.
He decides to change clothes while the egg is cooking. He realizes he can?t remember the last time he put on a new pair of jeans. ?It might?ve been Tuesday. Or Monday. Or? yeah, I think? I probably put on some new ones for work on Monday. That would make sense.? Not that Steve consistently makes sense. He changes pants anyway, something that will not be described in detail, as that would require an emergency medical team present and the signing of a small few waivers covering liability for psychological trauma or death.
He returns to the kitchen and investigates the sizzling egg. ?I don?t like that word. Sizzling. It?s like ?moist.? But I don?t really have a problem with that one.? The egg is near completion. Steve watches over it, shakes the pan a bit, and keeps watching. He takes a plate down from a cabinet and sets it near the stove. The edges of the egg white are becoming slightly brown, and Steve slides a spatula under it. He lifts it, accidentally leaving a small amount in the pan, and drops it on the plate. He places the pan in the sink and runs some water over it. He opens a drawer near him and takes a fork, then reaches for a pepper shaker. He enjoys his egg to a great degree. Although it is a bit overcooked. He knows he should have taken it off as soon as he noticed brown on its edges.
Steve decides that he will put off washing the rest of the dishes for the night, although he knows that this will never happen and he will have more to do the next morning. But he doesn?t care. He has other business to attend to.
